Bri was born on May 31, 1980, during a massive Iowa thunderstorm. The lightning flashed. The thunder boomed. Mark and I did not know it at the time, but the cacophony of the storm that night would foretell many aspects of Bri’s personality.

While I was a student at Iowa State, we lived in student housing. We had a teeny tiny little courtyard at our front door where I planted some vegetables in pots and in a small section of dirt. Once my onions started coming in, I noticed that some of them had been ripped out of the dirt, the onions eaten and the tops left on the paving. I wondered out loud if it was a bunny. I was doing the dishes one day while Bri was playing in the courtyard. I was watching her out the window, just in time to see her look both ways, grab an onion, rip it out of the ground, and hit it a couple of times on the paving to knock off the dirt. Then she proceeded to eat the onion like an apple. I walked out the door and exclaimed “So YOU’RE my bunny!” From that day forward,... Read more she was my “Bunny.” I never met anyone who eats onions like that five-year old girl did—and she did so for the rest of her life.

When we lived in Wichita, she and her younger sister Devon went to daycare at La Petite Academy. I think Bri was six and Devon was four. There was a third-grade boy who terrorized and bullied Devon at the daycare. No matter how many times I called the director to complain, they never took any action to make him stop. First-grader Bri meted out justice, taking the situation into her own hands. She soundly beat up the bully and we were promptly expelled from La Petite Academy.

She served in leadership for the San Antonio NORML organization, fighting to get marijuana legalized in the state of Texas. Her favorite t-shirt says FUCK THE PATRIARCHY. For Christmas, rather than asking for gifts for herself, she always asked people to make a donation to a human rights or refugee organization. Bri fought without fear for those who were oppressed, denied, unlucky or unloved. This power was doubled for her children.

Everyone here knew Bri, so I won’t try to tiptoe around this. She suffered from Bipolar disorder and could be mercurial. She had addiction problems at various times of her life. She fought the demons but struggled to stay in recovery. Recently, though, with a change in meds and a lot of determination, she was in a good place. She was happier than I have seen her in years. She was enjoying her life. We lost her at her best.

Fierce and fearless. Our hearts are broken. She was a storm—a force of nature—to be awed, feared sometimes, and loved well and fully. I fell in love with her that stormy night in 1980 when she entered this world--And I will never stop loving her.

**Notes about closing song: “You Say,” by Lauren Daigle.**

Brienne doubted herself in many situations. She often felt intimidated—not enough.

When she and Devon were teenagers, CJ noticed they were reacting to compliments with self-deprecation.

“Your hair looks great today!”
“Oh, it never does what I want it to.”

“What a cute outfit!”
“Oh, it’s just a really cheap thing I got last year.”

So for a few years, CJ challenged them to respond to compliments this way:

THANK YOU FOR RECOGNIZING MY MAGNIFICENCE!

It’s amazing how uncomfortable that made them.

The truth is that Brienne frequently poured her strength into family and friends in incredible ways, so they felt they were enough. That’s why the family chose to share this song.

She didn’t recognize her own magnificence. Read less

Bri was born on May 31, 1980, during a massive Iowa thunderstorm. The lightning flashed. The thunder boomed. Mark and I did not know it at the time, but the cacophony of the storm that night would foretell many aspects of Bri’s personality.

While I was a student at Iowa State, we lived in student housing. We had a teeny tiny little courtyard at our front door where I planted some vegetables in pots and in a small section of dirt. Once my onions started coming in, I noticed that some of them ... Read morehad been ripped out of the dirt, the onions eaten and the tops left on the paving. I wondered out loud if it was a bunny. I was doing the dishes one day while Bri was playing in the courtyard. I was watching her out the window, just in time to see her look both ways, grab an onion, rip it out of the ground, and hit it a couple of times on the paving to knock off the dirt. Then she proceeded to eat the onion like an apple. I walked out the door and exclaimed “So YOU’RE my bunny!” From that day forward, she was my “Bunny.” I never met anyone who eats onions like that five-year old girl did—and she did so for the rest of her life.

When we lived in Wichita, she and her younger sister Devon went to daycare at La Petite Academy. I think Bri was six and Devon was four. There was a third-grade boy who terrorized and bullied Devon at the daycare. No matter how many times I called the director to complain, they never took any action to make him stop. First-grader Bri meted out justice, taking the situation into her own hands. She soundly beat up the bully and we were promptly expelled from La Petite Academy.

She served in leadership for the San Antonio NORML organization, fighting to get marijuana legalized in the state of Texas. Her favorite t-shirt says FUCK THE PATRIARCHY. For Christmas, rather than asking for gifts for herself, she always asked people to make a donation to a human rights or refugee organization. Bri fought without fear for those who were oppressed, denied, unlucky or unloved. This power was doubled for her children.

Everyone here knew Bri, so I won’t try to tiptoe around this. She suffered from Bipolar disorder and could be mercurial. She had addiction problems at various times of her life. She fought the demons but struggled to stay in recovery. Recently, though, with a change in meds and a lot of determination, she was in a good place. She was happier than I have seen her in years. She was enjoying her life. We lost her at her best.

Fierce and fearless. Our hearts are broken. She was a storm—a force of nature—to be awed, feared sometimes, and loved well and fully. I fell in love with her that stormy night in 1980 when she entered this world--And I will never stop loving her.

**Notes about closing song: “You Say,” by Lauren Daigle.**

Brienne doubted herself in many situations. She often felt intimidated—not enough.

When she and Devon were teenagers, CJ noticed they were reacting to compliments with self-deprecation.

“Your hair looks great today!”
“Oh, it never does what I want it to.”

“What a cute outfit!”
“Oh, it’s just a really cheap thing I got last year.”

So for a few years, CJ challenged them to respond to compliments this way:

THANK YOU FOR RECOGNIZING MY MAGNIFICENCE!

It’s amazing how uncomfortable that made them.

The truth is that Brienne frequently poured her strength into family and friends in incredible ways, so they felt they were enough. That’s why the family chose to share this song.

She didn’t recognize her own magnificence. Read less

Bri,

From the moment I met you, my life changed. Your crooked smile, the bite of your lower lip, a tease by sticking your tongue out—I felt compelled to chase you, pursue you, until you became mine. We escaped together, ditching school, sneaking out, telling our parents, “Oh, we’re just going bowling.” We didn’t bowl. Our passion turned to love in what felt like a moment.

Our lives were never separate; we were more than soul mates; we were one soul. We balanced anxieties with calm, impatience with understanding, and doubts with unwavering belief in us. Now, I feel the other half of me missing, unable to navigate in this world without you.

We were kids when we met and when we had our own, growing up together while raising our children, figuring out parenting one day at a time. We made so many mistakes along the way, but it was an adventure through it all.

Each of our children was your gift to this world, and with each new arrival, I worried about how we would manage and if ... Read morewe were ready. When Michael came into our lives as a teenager, you smiled and said, "We just have one more to add and love." You, just taking it all in, holding each of them as they arrived, overflowing with love.

When we took vacations on the beach, you would jam so hard to music, look for shells with the kids, go swimming even though you always said, “The beach is for sunning, not getting in the water.”

You knew how to make me feel like the most important person in the world. You could break down my walls. You loved with your whole heart and gave everything of yourself, even the most difficult parts of you. Your touch alone could calm me.
I remember our honeymoon, us alone on the beach, what more could we ask for? You looked at me, laughed, got naked, and ran into the water. I chased you, amazed and when we met in the waves, you just said, "I love you." I could look at you in sweatpants and T-shirts or dressed to the nines for a night out, and I desired you. Your smell, your body, your thoughts—it's just always been you.

Bri was a hurricane, a fierce storm of fury if you got in her way or threatened those she loved. You couldn’t stand against her; you could only bend to her will. But at the center of this storm was a calm, loving space for her family and friends—a sanctuary of protection. Nothing could withstand what lay beyond this center. So much of you could bear down on us, and in the next moment, be calm, loving, serene.

I know you often struggled to see your own worth. You felt you were never good enough, burdened by imperfections and the guilt that you carried. You doubted if you were making a difference with our children, made too many mistakes when they were young to make things right. But those imperfections were some of the most precious parts of you. You, the hurricane in our lives, not realizing you were what held us together. Your imperfections made you real, genuine, and so beautifully ours.

You started to find peace, encouraging our children more and more, finding ways to enter into their lives with positivity and newfound joy you found in yourself again. You, in the end, made each child seen, heard, and so deeply loved.
With you gone, I am filled with a deep, unbearable anger at how life could be so cruel. Taken from us suddenly when we had so much left to do and you feeling better in this world. You were my greatest joy, and now, in your absence, you are my greatest pain. I miss you so deeply that it aches in every part of me—late-night talks, your calming touch, a peace that I cannot find anywhere else.

But In the midst of my anger, I feel your love fiercely guiding me through the darkness. Your love stronger than my pain, tempering my anger and holding me together, giving me the courage to move forward even when it feels impossible.
As our children grow and reach new milestones—I will be there, and I know you'll be there in spirit, watching over us. Though your absence leaves a profound emptiness, I will strive to fill that void with the love and memories we continue to create in your honor. You were looking so forward to grandkids, wondering all the time, “When are Grant and Caille going to get started already?” Joyful to have another wedding on the horizon for Chris and Christin. Confident and sure that Connor will find his way into the future, Kate finding their true self, and Michael finding peace and happiness each day.

I promise to carry on, honoring your memory by finding joy where I can, fiercely loving our children as you did, and filling our lives with memories that reflect your presence in every smile, hug, and tear of joy.

Thank you for the love you gave, the life we built together, and the memories that will forever remain in my heart. I feel your presence, guiding me, reminding me of the deep and endless love that we shared. Your touch may be gone, but its warmth will forever stay within me, comforting me in its absence. I treasure every part of you, even those you could never see as I did.

As I was writing this I was reaching out to Bri trying to make sense of things, wondering what to say. I was overcome with Bri’s presence and heard her speak to me. It was her voice and I wanted to share it with you all.

"Well, what the fuck. I just got my life together, I was doing everything right, and then this shit happens. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but hey, I left you at my best—I left you with laughter, with love, and still so much to look forward to!

To my kids: Keep being the incredible people you are. I am so proud of you every single day. Don't sweat the small stuff, and always know I love you beyond words.

To my friends and family: You all know me—I did things my way, good or bad. Keep laughing, keep loving, and take care of each other. I lived a damn good life, surrounded by all of you. I love you." Read less

Bri,

From the moment I met you, my life changed. Your crooked smile, the bite of your lower lip, a tease by sticking your tongue out—I felt compelled to chase you, pursue you, until you became mine. We escaped together, ditching school, sneaking out, telling our parents, “Oh, we’re just going bowling.” We didn’t bowl. Our passion turned to love in what felt like a moment.

Our lives were never separate; we were more than soul mates; we were one soul. We balanced anxieties with calm, impatience... Read more with understanding, and doubts with unwavering belief in us. Now, I feel the other half of me missing, unable to navigate in this world without you.

We were kids when we met and when we had our own, growing up together while raising our children, figuring out parenting one day at a time. We made so many mistakes along the way, but it was an adventure through it all.

Each of our children was your gift to this world, and with each new arrival, I worried about how we would manage and if we were ready. When Michael came into our lives as a teenager, you smiled and said, "We just have one more to add and love." You, just taking it all in, holding each of them as they arrived, overflowing with love.

When we took vacations on the beach, you would jam so hard to music, look for shells with the kids, go swimming even though you always said, “The beach is for sunning, not getting in the water.”

You knew how to make me feel like the most important person in the world. You could break down my walls. You loved with your whole heart and gave everything of yourself, even the most difficult parts of you. Your touch alone could calm me.
I remember our honeymoon, us alone on the beach, what more could we ask for? You looked at me, laughed, got naked, and ran into the water. I chased you, amazed and when we met in the waves, you just said, "I love you." I could look at you in sweatpants and T-shirts or dressed to the nines for a night out, and I desired you. Your smell, your body, your thoughts—it's just always been you.

Bri was a hurricane, a fierce storm of fury if you got in her way or threatened those she loved. You couldn’t stand against her; you could only bend to her will. But at the center of this storm was a calm, loving space for her family and friends—a sanctuary of protection. Nothing could withstand what lay beyond this center. So much of you could bear down on us, and in the next moment, be calm, loving, serene.

I know you often struggled to see your own worth. You felt you were never good enough, burdened by imperfections and the guilt that you carried. You doubted if you were making a difference with our children, made too many mistakes when they were young to make things right. But those imperfections were some of the most precious parts of you. You, the hurricane in our lives, not realizing you were what held us together. Your imperfections made you real, genuine, and so beautifully ours.

You started to find peace, encouraging our children more and more, finding ways to enter into their lives with positivity and newfound joy you found in yourself again. You, in the end, made each child seen, heard, and so deeply loved.
With you gone, I am filled with a deep, unbearable anger at how life could be so cruel. Taken from us suddenly when we had so much left to do and you feeling better in this world. You were my greatest joy, and now, in your absence, you are my greatest pain. I miss you so deeply that it aches in every part of me—late-night talks, your calming touch, a peace that I cannot find anywhere else.

But In the midst of my anger, I feel your love fiercely guiding me through the darkness. Your love stronger than my pain, tempering my anger and holding me together, giving me the courage to move forward even when it feels impossible.
As our children grow and reach new milestones—I will be there, and I know you'll be there in spirit, watching over us. Though your absence leaves a profound emptiness, I will strive to fill that void with the love and memories we continue to create in your honor. You were looking so forward to grandkids, wondering all the time, “When are Grant and Caille going to get started already?” Joyful to have another wedding on the horizon for Chris and Christin. Confident and sure that Connor will find his way into the future, Kate finding their true self, and Michael finding peace and happiness each day.

I promise to carry on, honoring your memory by finding joy where I can, fiercely loving our children as you did, and filling our lives with memories that reflect your presence in every smile, hug, and tear of joy.

Thank you for the love you gave, the life we built together, and the memories that will forever remain in my heart. I feel your presence, guiding me, reminding me of the deep and endless love that we shared. Your touch may be gone, but its warmth will forever stay within me, comforting me in its absence. I treasure every part of you, even those you could never see as I did.

As I was writing this I was reaching out to Bri trying to make sense of things, wondering what to say. I was overcome with Bri’s presence and heard her speak to me. It was her voice and I wanted to share it with you all.

"Well, what the fuck. I just got my life together, I was doing everything right, and then this shit happens. I’m sorry I had to leave you, but hey, I left you at my best—I left you with laughter, with love, and still so much to look forward to!

To my kids: Keep being the incredible people you are. I am so proud of you every single day. Don't sweat the small stuff, and always know I love you beyond words.

To my friends and family: You all know me—I did things my way, good or bad. Keep laughing, keep loving, and take care of each other. I lived a damn good life, surrounded by all of you. I love you." Read less